


Golden Boys

by Jacques_Carneses



Category: Australian Rules Football RPF
Genre: AU where certain rules of quarantine don't apply, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Ass to Mouth, BDSM, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Bestiality, Bondage, Bottom Bailey, Bottom James, Butt Plugs, Cock & Ball Torture, Come as Lube, Deepthroating, Dildos, Dom/sub, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Farting, Feminization, Food Kink, Food Sex, Gags, Humiliation, I am going to hell for this, Identity Issues, Kinda, Knotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, POV the captor, Piss Play, Prolapse, Public Sex, Punishment, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rimming, Rosebud Kink, Scat, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Sexuality Crisis, Shit Eating, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Stuffing, Training, Trauma, Underwear Kink, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Vomiting, Watersports, basically everything that might need a trigger warning is in this, fart kink, piss as lube, straight to gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacques_Carneses/pseuds/Jacques_Carneses
Summary: The two most beautiful boys in the AFL, James Rowbottom and Bailey Smith, are hanging out on a Thursday night during the footy season's shutdown period. A chance encounter with a stranger - a student working as a delivery driver to pay his way through uni - ends up with the two boys being subjected to the random guy's wildest, filthiest fantasies.Whether they like it or not.But what if the mysterious man had more in store for them than just one awful night?OR: Two boys who I adore are objectified, put through hell, and turned into a random dude's personal sluts.
Relationships: Bailey Smith/James Rowbottom, Bailey Smith/Original Male Character, James Rowbottom/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is without a doubt the filthiest thing I have written, full of taboo kinks and fetishes, and full of triggering content, so...
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ANY OF THE CONTENT IN THIS STORY.
> 
> IT IS PURE, 100% FICTION.
> 
> & thank you to O - this is for you. You know who you are.

It was nine o’clock when I got the notification to deliver a meal to a house in Sandringham. Prior to becoming an Uber Eats driver on the side to pay my way through uni, I didn’t know just how common it was for people to get takeaway food at this time of night. Late dinners, obviously. I always get curious about each order, what the person does for a living and why they’re eating that particular food at that particular time. It’s a fun game to play to get me through what can be a tedious and boring job. 

When I get Lisa Taylor from Malvern ordering burgers at 10am, I create the story in my head that she’s a night-shift worker, maybe a nurse or airport staff, and she’s just knocked off, and is going to have a glass of red wine with her burger before crashing for the night. When I get Ralph Bridges from Fitzroy ordering three fish and chips meals, I like to think he’s a stressed out father of four, maybe he’s having problems with his wife so he’s turning to fatty, greasy fast food as a relief. 

Like I said, it’s a boring job, and your mind wanders.

So when I see one Bailey Smith from Sandringham has ordered a curry for two, my mind instantly goes to the footballer. I’m no Bulldogs fan, but it’s been practically impossible to live in Melbourne and follow the footy, and not have heard of Bailey Smith over the last six months. He is stunning, with piercing blue eyes, smooth bronzed skin, perfectly sculpted muscles, and a flowing golden mullet that only he could pull off. This time around, I imagine it’s Bailey the footballer ordering the meal. Why would he be having curry at 9pm on a Thursday night? My mind settles on a date night with his girlfriend. They’re both foodies, being mindful of their health and fitness, and love trying different cuisines beyond just protein and vegetables as per his footy club’s strict nutritional regime. 

My mind’s now moved to Bailey and his girlfriend eating their curry on the couch in front of the TV. Maybe Bailey would want to watch the Last Dance, the documentary about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls, but his girlfriend would make him watch the Block to get renovation ideas for when they eventually settle into their own place, and he reluctantly goes along with it. Maybe he bends to her will easily like that. Maybe she’s constantly reminding him who wears the pants in the relationship. Maybe she yells at him when he drops a few grains of rice or spills a bit of curry sauce on his plain T-shirt as he eats, and he gets all flushed and embarrassed about what a mess he’s made of himself. Maybe she tells him if he drops any on the couch he can sleep on it that night, or better yet, clean it all up with just his mouth.

I’m now in too deep to this fantasy for it to be real. I shake myself back to reality, and remember that I’ve got to pick these curries up from the local Indian place, and get them to this random Bailey’s house in Sandringham on time to get five stars and ultimately, get paid. But there’s a nagging thought in the back of my mind… what if this Bailey Smith person was actually THE Bailey Smith from my fantasy? And what if I blew the chance to have a proper conversation with him because I dismissed that notion and just handed him his food through my car window?

I’m thinking it’s now or never. I’d fantasized about Bailey before, among many other AFL players, and this could be the most random opportunity to actually see one of them in the flesh. I had to know if it was the Bailey Smith I so wanted it to be, so I came up with an idea. I just had to bide my time.

By bide my time, I mean wait ten minutes. I drove to the local curry place, picked up the order for ‘Bailey Smith’, and got back in my car, before entering the suburb of Sandringham. I picked up my phone, and dialled the number of the Bailey Smith whose account was attached to the Uber Eats order. It rang, and rang, and rang, before finally a soft-spoken but distinctly husky and masculine voice answered. 

“Hello?”

“Ah, hey, this is your Uber Eats driver. I just wanted to double check that the address you entered is correct, cause it’s not coming up in my GPS.”

“Uhhh yeah, I think I entered it correctly. Maybe let me know where you are right now and I can just text you directions?” The voice over the phone replied warmly.

“Yeah, sure. I’m on Bay Road, near the ALDI in Cheltenham.” 

“Oh yep, I’ll message you then, cheers.”

“Ah wait – just before you go, I gotta ask…” I was so nervous, my heart was thumping out of my chest. “Is your Insta by any chance ‘bazlenka’?”

There was immediate silence, followed by a nervous chuckle, and I could tell the guy on the other end of the line was connecting the dots, knowing that I wanted to know if he was the popular footballer or not. But to be frank, by his aw-shucks laughter, I’d pretty much already got my answer anyway.

“Yeah it is,” the other man said, continuing to chortle with a nervous laughter. I couldn’t see him, but I bet his cheeks were flushed as he couldn’t escape that extra attention even doing something as simple as ordering Uber Eats. I didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than I already had. My curiosity was satisifed.

“Ha, all good man. I’ll follow your directions. Shouldn’t be too longer than 10 minutes.”

“Cheers,” he said simply, and abruptly hung up.

As soon as he hung up, the realization dawned on me. 

Holy fuck. 

I was going to be delivering food to Bailey Smith, the object of my sexual desires over the past six or so months! 

My mind was racing, thinking about all the different scenarios I could see myself in with Bailey, at his home. But then reality set in and I realised that ultimately, I’d probably just be dropping a bag of food off at his door-step, knocking on the door, then walking away for him to collect it (Fuck you, social distancing.) I wouldn’t even see Bailey, wouldn’t even speak to him. This could not fucking happen. I wasn’t about to let coronavirus stop me from seizing this purely coincidental opportunity that the gods had placed in my lap. All the Uber drivers in Melbourne, and all the times Bailey fucking Smith could’ve ordered food, and he did it at this time, with me on the receiving end of it.

That had to be a sign that something more than just a knock at his front door was meant to happen here.

I suddenly started thinking, ‘what if I could get beyond that front door?’ 

I’m seeing it now. I’m inside his house, maybe he even invites me to share some of the curry with him and his girlfriend. But I don’t want her there. I’d feel too self-conscious and judged by her to be able to properly eye Bailey up and down. Maybe she could say she’s tired and she’d go to bed, and I’d have Bailey all to myself. Maybe then I could make a move, try to hit on him, see if he has any bi tendencies. But what if he made a noise? Acted aggressively? Told me to fuck off? Reported my account and got me banned from being an Uber driver? Maybe I’d have to make sure he didn’t do any of those things. 

Maybe I’d have to subdue him somehow.

Then I remembered: my pill-bag. 

My ex and I used to have wild sex, and he was into rape fantasy. I didn’t like it at first. It wasn’t my thing, but he indulged my kinks like piss-play and deepthroating, so I indulged his. It started off with physical, aggressive man-handling as I entered him without any preparation or warning, but it eventually emerged into more of a loving thing, as I’d drug him and he’d wake up to the feeling of my cock inside him, all warm and wet with my arms around him, knowing I’d bred him while he was unconscious. 

But when we broke up, I was left with a whole bag of various drugs we’d played around with, including poppers for the fisting and extra-large dildos, aphrodisiacs for when we’d be at a public event and we’d tease each other to see who would break in a crowded space first, and roofies, for when my ex wanted to be unconscious with me inside of him. 

I’d made a mental note to ditch the bag, but just kept forgetting to do it. I had no use for them all this time. I didn’t think I’d find another guy with the same kinks as my ex, and never in a million years did I think I’d be sitting here contemplating needing them for an incredibly attractive professional athlete.  
Something came over me. It was like a dark cloud, lingering above me and trying to lure me into doing something I knew I shouldn’t. I looked at the paper bags in the passenger seat. Bailey’s food was right there. I looked at the pill-bag on the floor of the back-seat. It all just clicked. It was so easy. There were too many signs to ignore. All I needed to do was find the balls to do it.

And it turned out that that was pretty easy. 

Once I was moving, it all came so naturally to me. I reached back for the pill-bag and pulled out a mini zip-lock bag with the label ‘roofies’ on it and pulled out the light blue pills. I then opened the first curry on top, a tikka masala, and crushed the tablet inside it, using my finger to make sure the powdery substance was absorbed into the red and orange curry sauce. 

Then it hit me. How would I know which one was Bailey’s? There were two containers, one for Bailey, and one for his girlfriend. I knew what had to be done. For some reason I felt worse about mixing the pill into Bailey’s girlfriends curry than I did with Bailey’s own curry. After all, it wasn’t her fault that her boyfriend was such a fucking stud that I just had to have. But then again, she knew that when she started dating him. 

So I mix away, using one of the spare serviettes in the bag to wipe my fingers clean of the curry sauce when I’m satisfied that there is no visible trace of the drug I had just mixed into their food.

It was done. I couldn’t go back now. Not unless I threw the meals out, in which case I’d have nothing to deliver to Bailey, and wouldn’t be able to meet him; to see his phenomenal beauty in the flesh. 

The drive to Bailey’s property was a nervous one. As I pulled into his straight, and approached the street-front of Bailey’s house, which looked every bit as aesthetically-pleasing as it’s occupant, I noticed another car out the front, a blue Volkswagen. ‘Of course his missus would drive a VW,’ I think to myself as I roll my eyes, envious of how lucky she was to be with Bailey, but also already resentful to how much of an obstacle she was going to be tonight. 

I am shaking as I get out the car, Uber Eats bag in tow, and walk up to the front door. Straight away I hear the thumping bark of a dog from inside the property, clearly alerted to my presence. 

That could be a problem.

But a dog is a dog. They are not as smart or as difficult to trick as humans. It was the alpha Bailey, and his girlfriend who I was most concerned about nullifying. 

I knocked on the door, and I heard mumbled voices from behind the door, followed by a, “Boomer! Down!” 

That was him. It was Bailey’s voice. I could hear it through the door, just like on the phone. This was really happening. I heard the clicking of the door unlocking and then there he was. The Bailey Smith standing there in all his beauty, in one of his baggy Nike shirts, and a pair of footy shorts that showcased his toned, tanned legs. 

“Hey,” he said simply with a faint smile, not giving away the game as he seemed distracted by whatever was happening behind the door. It became clear he was trying to restrain a dog that went up to at least his waist, while simultaneously trying to reach out and grab the Uber Eats bag from my hand. He was struggling, grunting as the dog fought back, and he was getting visibly frustrated, while trying to maintain the polite façade to me, the stranger at his front door. 

“Rowy, can you come get Boomer?” He yelled turning away. “Sorry I just don’t want him getting out.” 

I smiled back at him. “That’s okay man,” and he smiled back. God, that smile. You could literally see the glimmer in his eye when he smiled. Just as I imagined it.

I wasn’t sure who Rowy was – maybe a nickname for his girlfriend? – but my brain was more occupied with how I was going to get from step A, the front door step, to step B, inside his home. And then to step C – inside Bailey.

Then my brain suddenly flicked some switch. It entered a mode of efficiency I didn’t even know I was capable of under such pressure.  
“You want me to bring them inside for ya?” I offered, and Bailey visibly relaxed at my words, smiling and replying, “Ah yeah that would be great thanks,” as he continued to try and manhandle the dog into behaving. 

As he swung the door open wider to allow me entrance, I didn’t even have time to take notice of his home – how warm and cosy and clean it was, because a massive great dane was jumping up at me, nearly knocking me off balance as it lunged paws-first. 

“OI! BOOMER!” Bailey shouted, looking concerned. “Shit, sorry about that,” he stuttered as he finally managed to yank the dog away from me for long enough to head over to the kitchen counter, where I placed the bag of food. “He just gets excited when someone walks in.” 

His words didn’t really process to me. I still couldn’t believe I was in Bailey’s home, talking to Bailey, looking at Bailey. 

But I hadn’t come this far just to walk away with that little consolation prize. 

I’d made it inside Bailey’s house, and now, I had to find a way to stay.

Before I even had time to think, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind me, and then a gorgeous, tanned boy with a baby face, big blue puppy eyes and blonde locks down to just above his shoulder appeared out of nowhere. 

Holy shit.

It was James Rowbottom.

I knew his face, I instantly recognised who it was. And yet my brain couldn’t process it and put two and two together that James Rowbottom, the golden boy and resident cutie of the Sydney Swans, was in the home of Bailey Smith, the golden boy and poster child of the Western Bulldogs. And that I was in the house with both of them. 

I was speechless at the sight of James, unable to form any kind of words, but I must’ve just smiled in friendly gesture because he greeted me back with a warm smile that seemed to light up his face. 

This was all so overwhelming. As I looked around at the two lads standing in front of me, in such close proximity to two boys I had fantasised about consistently for so long, it just confirmed to me that I was meant to be here, in this house, in this moment. 

So I switched back into strategic mode, needing an excuse to stay in the house long enough for their roofied curries to take effect. 

“Uh hey do you guys mind if I use your WiFi just to send a few emails?”

It was a ridiculous request, really. Why the hell would an Uber driver need to use a random’s internet just to reply to some emails? I don’t even know why my brain had blurted it out. I’d gone so well up to this point, having the perfect balance between overwhelming shock at the situation I was in, and calculating cunning at how to take things further. As soon as my question came out, and I saw Bailey and James looking at each other, I thought I needed to add more mayo to it, maybe just tell them that my phone was fucking up and so I really needed to do this urgently.

But mayo was not needed. They both just shrugged their shoulders and nodded, with Bailey piping up a more-than-indifferent “Yeah sure man.” He turned to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a handful of bowls while I had my head in my phone, pretending to be doing something. 

“D’you want any?” Bailey asked with his back still turned facing the cupboard, and it took me a second to realise that he wasn’t talking to James, he was talking to me!

For a brief second, I almost took him up on the offer. Until I remembered what having some of the ‘curry’ would entail. In fact part of me actually regretted drugging their food. After all, I’d made it this far with the two boys of completely sound mind, and could’ve been sitting here having a cute dinner date with them. Who knows, maybe I could’ve achieved my end goal without having to do anything sneaky at all?  
But I’d committed to the plan, and had to see it through, or it would all be for naught.

“Nah I’m alright thanks, already had dinner,” I replied shyly, and Bailey and James both just looked indifferent. 

God, it was so fucking hot how they laid-back both guys were. They had a total stranger in their kitchen, and they were so unbothered by my presence. It probably helped that I’m of a similar age to them, so there was an element of trust that otherwise wouldn’t have been there. But it also spoke volumes about the kinds of people they were: warm, welcoming, friendly. The kind of boys who greet randoms with whole-hearted smiles, rather than an arrogance or sense of superiority. 

And finally, it said a lot about the natural confidence of both boys. Bailey not minding literally opening his doors to people and playing the role of the host, engaging in natural banter and chit-chat; James was more quiet, happy to not be the centre of attention, but still with a calm, easy-going demeanour. Maybe he was used to his mate Bailey getting all the attention as the worshipped social media King of the AFL. Maybe James was just satisfied with his life and his relationships as they were, not needing the gratification of strangers and fans.

It got me thinking: what the hell were these two doing in the same house? 

I knew that Bailey was from Melbourne and played in Melbourne, while James was from Melbourne, but played in Sydney. To say my curiosity was stoked would be an understatement.

“So.. how did you guys meet?” I asked casually, trying to keep my cool when I really just wanted to ask them if they were a couple and if so, when can we have a threesome.

Both boys just chuckled at my question, and James referred to Bailey with a glance as he sat at the kitchen island to eat his curry, which provoked a throbbing sensation in my pants. 

“Ah well we played under 18s footy together. But like, we’d played against each other from when we were like… 14? 15?” Bailey responded, scrunching his face as he turned to James, who nodded in confirmation with a mouth full of curry.

“Oh right, that’s cool. You guys mustn’t see each other much?” 

“Well not really,” Bailey responded, before James interjected, much to my surprise.

“I work in Sydney,” James said innocently. 

Bless him, he didn’t even know that I knew who he was. 

“Yeah, you play for the Swans,” I said, and that led to total silence in the room. Even Bailey, who was feeding curry into his mouth stopped still as it dawned on the boys that I didn’t just know who Bailey ‘Bazlenka’ Smith was, but I knew who James was. The secret was out – I was a fan of both. This was the make or break moment. I feared they’d consider me some kind of stalker and kick me out on the spot. Had I blown it by giving too much away? Being too honest about myself?

Instead, they just looked at each other and smiled. A blush fell over James’ face, and Bailey just smiled, even with a mouth full of curry. 

“You follow footy hey?” James asked in a cliché way, his entire demeanour changing as he sat up a little straighter in his kitchen stool, scurried through the Uber Eats bag for a serviette to wipe the barely-there curry sauce around his mouth. It was as though someone had told him the Queen of England was coming so he had to conduct himself in an orderly manner. It was very confusing, but I suppose they were used to having to act a certain way around fans. They were representing their club, and their league, and blah blah blah.

“Yeah I do,” I lied, to save myself having to admit that the only way I’d heard of either of them was by scouring porn blogs on Tumblr with hot posts about them. “But don’t worry I’m not like a diehard, I won’t tell anyone you guys are hanging out and shit. It’s no biggie.” And Bailey and James side-eyed each other at that, like they were silently communicating that they had nothing to worry about here. 

“We’d appreciate that cause, like… we’re technically not allowed.” Bailey responded cautiously. “Quarantine and all that.” 

James just nodded in support of Bailey’s words, and I nodded along in reassurance, earning a faint pair of grateful smiles from the two boys.

“Is that why you’re in Vic?” I asked turning to James, who nodded. 

“Yeah, came down a month back. Dunno when I’ll be going back up.”

A silence fell over the room as both boys had their mouths full, the scent of curry filling the air as they looked satisfied, groaning in contentment over their tasty meals. All the while I’m sitting with a raging hard-on knowing what those very meals are doing to them. I almost felt bad that I was inflicting this on two boys who had been nothing but kind and gracious. 

Almost. 

“It’s good though cause it means we can catch up and spend time with family and stuff,” James continued, mouth half full of curry. I had to refrain from chuckling as I saw him struggling with a mouthful that was clearly too hot to swallow as his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. 

“Yeah but it gets pretty boring and like…” Bailey stopped mid-sentence as his whole body stiffened, back arched in his stool like he was straightening up for a military inspection. And then his eyes bulged out of his head, and his face became flushed. 

Incredibly flushed.

It was almost as if his cheeks were on fire they were such a searing shade of pink. 

He looked absolutely mortified for some reason, with a sense of dread and realisation washing over his face. But James and I just swapped looks, confused and bewildered as to why Bailey was suddenly so incapacitated. 

And then we smelt it. 

Both of us at the same time, James’ eyes meeting mine as the pungent, undeniable stench of a fart filled the air. It was disgusting, and it smelt fresh, like whatever it was that caused someone’s body to let it out had conjured it that very second. 

It dawned on me that it was Bailey who had farted, as he was blushing furiously and looked as if he was trying to clench every muscle in his body, trying to will the need for further farts away. 

But then another came out, this time audible. It was loud, and wet, and sloppy, and he had a cheeky smirk on his face as it slipped out, like he was trying to play it cool and own how little control he had over his bowels, when in reality I knew it was just killing him inside. James wasn’t so sympathetic. 

“Fuck Baz that’s rank,” he said, pulling his T-shirt up to his face to cover his nose and mouth, all the while laughing at his mate’s embarrassing situation. In front of a fan, no less. It was cute to see, although not how I expected my interaction with the two to go. I had to remind myself they were just teenagers – both nineteen, forced to grow up in a high intensity career field in the AFL, forced to be on their best behaviour at all times and conduct themselves with a certain sense of, well, sensibility. 

As James giggled at Bailey, who was continuing to let little wet sounding farts out intermittently, as if he had absolutely no control over his bodily functions at all, James giggled just that little bit too much and let out one of those squeaky, high-pitched farts. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it farts that come out when you don’t expect it and didn’t even know you were holding it in.

Now it was James turn to blush, but not before Bailey looked over, wide-eyed and jaw dropping in shock. 

“OI!” Bailey shouted through a half-laugh, pointing his finger as if to shift some of the blame on James, and they both burst into fits of laughter. 

Seeing these two gassy boys sharing banter over dinner while battling their way through an unintentional farting contest was so fucking cute. They were truly enjoying each other’s company. It was as if I, the total stranger “using their WiFi”, wasn’t even there. And I couldn’t wait for them to truly become oblivious to my presence. And then I remembered that yes, I had actually drugged them. And it dawned on me. The roofies making them feel relaxed; the curry making their bodies feel relaxed. Both combining and reacting together inside them? No wonder they were acting like drunken fools with no control over what their insides were doing!

I started to panic internally. What if I had accidentally made these boys have some kind of adverse reaction to the drugs? What if it’s not supposed to be mixed with curry? Or any food? 

But as I continued observing the boys, and seeing their boyish laughter over their uncontrollable farting – which apparently both boys had become immuned to as neither felt compelled to cover their noses anymore – I realised I was over-thinking it. 

They were just boys being boys. 

After letting rip a particularly sloppy fart that was powerful enough it made Bailey leap out of his stool and bring a hand back to his ass, his eyes suddenly became glossy, lashes fluttering and tongue hanging loosely out of his mouth. It was like he’d just inhaled a magic potion that made his brain whirl and his muscles turn to jelly. His face went from the pink hue of a flush to beetroot-red, as though all the blood was surging to his head rapidly. And then, in such a swift change it could’ve been a GIF, his face became pale, the colour draining from him in a matter of seconds, James too busy cackling from laughter over their farting to even notice that his mate was looking visibly unwell. 

And before even I could do anything, Bailey slumped forward onto the kitchen bench. He looked totally lifeless, and James’ laughter ground to an uncertain halt as he suspected that the other boy might actually not be joking around anymore. 

“The fuck?” James lept out of his seat, panic clear in his voice. But before he could even move over to check on Bailey, James felt his own stomach growling, so aggressively that it was like a gut-punch, as he hunched over in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his stomach through his thick hoodie, and grunting in discomfort. Then a deep, rumbling fart erupted from inside his shorts, so violently loud and wet that I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a damp patch at the back of the fabric. 

He was moaning and groaning, too distracted by his own torturous bowel movements to even pay the unconscious Bailey any attention. I felt my cock throb at the look of realisation that dawned on his face as it sunk in that this was no longer just a funny joke about flatulence between two mates. Something wasn’t right here, and there was absolutely nothing James could do but try to clench his butt cheeks together as sloppy fart after sloppy fart came tumbling out and he fell to the kitchen floor. He was grunting and grimacing, face scrunched in pain as the farts kept erupting from his ass; he looked up at me, face blushed from the humiliating situation he was in, puppy eyes pleading, mouth open trying to form words but unable to. 

Then just like Bailey, he collapsed into an unconscious heap, farts becoming more and more quiet until they morphed into silent ones that permeated the air around him. 

For a moment I was horrified as I looked at the scene in front of me: Bailey hunched over the kitchen bench, face-planted on the counter-top, skin as white as a ghost and the long strands of his blonde mullet thrown across either shoulders, while James was sprawled out against the cold floorboards of the kitchen, his blonde hair was dishevelled and covering his face too. 

To a random observer, if they walked in at this very second, it would look every bit the crime scene – two unconscious teen boys discovered in their kitchen.

But I knew better, which brought me some relief. I knew it was just two unconscious teen boys whose bodies needed a rest from the wear and tear that their curries – and my roofies – had done to their insides. 

And their assholes.

I raced over and felt both of their pulses. I knew I had nothing to worry about, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. They were both alive. OK, that’s a good start. 

I knew I didn’t have much time. I remembered back to the times I would “date-rape” my ex as part of his fantasies. He’d only be unconscious for about half an hour at most. Sometimes he’d only be out for ten to fifteen minutes, and sometimes he wouldn’t even pass out at all, just stay tripping out on the couch while he slurred his words, the room spun around him, and his bones turned into feathers that couldn’t hold his body weight.

I had to move fast. 

I moved over to Bailey first, yanking him upright by his mullet so I could access his face. I slapped him across the cheek, and was met with no response as I released my hold on him and he slumped forward onto the bench again. 

Perfect. He was out cold.

I tucked my hands under his arm-pits, which by now were saturated through his T-shirt from sweat, no doubt eating spicy curries while you fart your way through hysterical laughing fits will get you feeling pretty hot. He was dead-weight in my arms, but I slowly dragged him through the hallway into the nearest bedroom I could find – it didn’t matter which room or whose it was. I quickly realised that it was Bailey’s room, judging by the Western Bulldogs training gear strewn across the floor in the corner of the room. I wasn’t focused on much else beyond getting him on the bed, which of course was not easy. Young and boyish his charm may be, he was still a ripped professional athlete who was not easy to manoeuvre when passed out.

Eventually I managed to lumber him onto the bed face-down, which was actually ideal as it made it that much easier to remove his clothes, starting with his footy shorts, which slid down his toned thighs, scattered with a thin layer of coarse strawberry blonde hairs. The silky fabric came off easily, leaving Bailey in just his white Calvin Klein briefs, which were pulled up tight around the curve of his ass, where his cheeks met his thighs, tucked into the crevice between his glutes. No doubt if he were conscious right now he’d be pulling it out before it became a proper wedgie. 

I was tempted to inflict that upon him, to grab the waistband and hoist it as high as possible, to get the fabric as deep into his crack as possible and make him feel that burn, but I didn’t want to risk doing anything that may jolt him from his unconscious stupour.

So with restraint, I slid the CK’s down his thighs, admiring the way his butt cheeks jiggled as they were released from their fabric confines. And what beautiful cheeks they were, pale in contrast to the rest of his tanned figure, and like his thighs, had just enough hair to remind you what an alpha hunk he could be. 

But he was not an alpha hunk. 

Not tonight at least.

I couldn’t resist running one hand over his cheeks, taking in the feeling of the bouncy flesh, soft enough to leave traces behind where my fingers had rubbed, but firm enough to remind me that of course this ass would belong to the young adonis who was currently lying helpless on the bed, his CK’s bunched around his ankles.

I held his feet together and slid the briefs off him all the way delicately.

I showed no such mercy on his top half. I couldn’t figure out a way to remove his Nike T-shirt with his arms spread out on the bed and his torso plastered flat to the mattress. Succumbing to impatience, I used two hands to grab at the fabric of the shirt, and ripped it apart, the sound of fabric tearing causing my cock to pulse in excitement. That sound never ceased to arouse me.

His flawless back was now exposed to me, all smooth skin and perfectly sculpted muscles, slight dimples at the base of his spine leading down to the curve of his ass. And of course, that mullet, strawberry blonde at the top but bright and vibrant and golden blonde at the bottom, those strands contrasting against the caramel of his tanned shoulders. It was all perfection.

If there was any part of me that was regretting the plans I had for Bailey, that part quickly left my body as I stared at the sight before me and realised that it didn’t matter how I had him. I just had to have him. 

And then I remembered my plans.

In that, I didn’t really have one.

I was totally winging it, and I was so focused on getting Bailey, and James as it turned out, unconscious, at my mercy and my disposal to do with as I pleased, that I hadn’t actually thought about what I wanted to do with them. 

My mind was racing a million miles an hour, I couldn’t focus on a single idea beyond simply having my cock inside them. It was frustrating, as I’d spent many nights fantasising about these two, and none of those fantasies were coming to mind now that I could actually enact them. 

I needed to calm down, and take one step at a time. 

How could I fuck these boys without them fighting back, or alerting the neighbours? 

Restraints and gags.

Right.

Ten minutes of hurried scrambling through kitchen drawers and using my iPhone spotlight to search through the dark garden shed as quietly as possible, all the while panicked that Bailey or James or both would regain consciousness while I was searching, had produced a coyle of thin rope and some damp rags. 

Neither were ideal.

The rope wasn’t thick enough to be able to absolutely restrain either lad, and the rags, well, while the idea of making the boys suck on a damp and dirty rag was appealing, the stench was pretty off-putting, even for me. 

Once I was inside, and I saw Bailey, still as vulnerable as ever, his briefs still resting next to him while the rest of his clothes were scattered across the floor, a lightbulb flicked on in my brain. I might not need either the rope or the rag, at least not as essentially as I had initially thought.

I dragged Bailey up until he was better positioned in the centre of the bed, pulling one arm up, tying the rope around his wrist and then tying the other end up around the post of the bed-head, and doing the same with the other. It looked uncomfortable, his arms held up above his head, back arched in an unhealthy manner, despite how undeniably sexy the curve of his spine was. He needed to be on his knees so there was less strain on his back, so I dug my hands into his hips, and pulled him back, thinking about how if he were awake right now he’d be grunting from the stretching. I then tied the ropes around his ankles, before tying them to the bedposts at the feet of the bed. 

I was so focused on the practicality of tying him up to the bed that I hadn’t even thought about the fucking beauty of the exercise. He was now strung up before me like an animal on display at the butcher – arms spread wide, back bent, ass stuck out like a Christmas present. A Thanksgiving turkey perhaps, just without the stuffing.

Well, at least no stuffing… yet.

As I gazed upon the ridiculously hot sight before me, I was distracted by the sound of paws on the floorboards, and remembered that that fucking dog was around. It had obviously just woken up from it’s post-dinner nap. I got a little nervous. What if it was the kind of dog that goes ballistic when it can sense something is wrong with it’s owner? Or the kind that just barked erratically at the presence of a stranger in the house? 

But then a thought occurred to me. What better way to silence the dog than letting it play with something? As I stared around the room, trying to find anything that could distract the huge great dane. There were no dog toys or stuffed animals for it to play with, and then my eyes settled on Bailey. Beautiful, tanned, muscular Bailey spread out on the bed, waiting for someone, or something to use him. Almost inviting someone or something to use him. 

I tried to push the thought out of my head.

It was wrong. It was evil. It was sick. 

But I couldn’t shake it. I needed to see Bailey being used as a toy for his big great dane, this dog that he loved and had a special bond with. To see them forming a literal bond. 

Before I even had the time to change my mind, the dog paws out in the kitchen reminded me of James. 

Oh yeah, the other crazy attractive footballer who I could have my way with. 

I looked down at my feet and saw I still had the majority of the rope left, as I didn’t end up requiring too much for Bailey, so I left Bailey in the room, closing the door behind me so that the great dane wouldn’t decide to go exploring without my supervision, and headed back into the kitchen. I was relieved to see James exactly where I’d left him, albeit with the great dane sniffing up and down his legs, even digging it’s nose between his ass cheeks, no doubt attracted to whatever scent was permanently coming out of James’ gassy, leaking anus.

The sight didn’t repulse me, but nevertheless I shooed the dog away so that I could get to James, and the dopey dog just did as it was told, submissively scurrying across the other side of the kitchen as if I’d scoulded him rather than just waving him away. It confirmed to me that maybe this might be the right dog for what I had in store for Bailey.

I picked James up and noticed he was even sweatier than Bailey, blonde strands of hair damp and stuck to his temples, while the longer bits clung to the back of his neck. Probably from struggling a lot more before passing out than Bailey did. He stunk too. I actually dry-heaved at the stench of the sweat and musk emanating from James, as well as the odour from his fart that was still circulating around the kitchen. 

Logic told me he needed to shower, so I dragged him by his arms to the bathroom, his entire body like a sack of potatos as it was traipsed across the floorboards, down the hall and into the bathroom. I flicked the light on and saw that Bailey’s house actually had the shower in the bathtub, which was ideal as it meant I could just pick him up and lumber him into the tub in one fell swoop.

But of course, I got ahead of myself again, and quickly realised that I couldn’t give James a shower. The idea was to keep him as drugged up and as fucked up as possible, for as long as possible, not to wake him up and have him feeling refreshed!

James posed a real problem. How was I going to get this sweaty, stinky boy clean enough to be able to have my way with him?

I started taking his clothes off, hoping a solution would come to mind eventually… preferably sooner rather than later. Removing his clothes was significantly easier to navigate than it was with Bailey, given James was laid out much more flat across the expanse of the bathtub. I chuckled to myself with endearment at how ruffled his surfy blonde hair looked after I pulled his T-shirt over his head. There was something so charmingly innocent and seductively sexy about him all at the same time, like he could be both a cheeky, flirty larrikin and a cute and pure beacon of wholesomeness.

But those thoughts quickly left my head once I got him down to just his underwear. The first thing I noticed was that they were just plain old red jocks, the kind you’d get in a 4-pack for $15. Not a designer label in sight. It again showed the chasm between Bailey and James, and how they complimented each other so well, Bailey the slick and stylish hunk, James the modest and inconspicuous cutie. 

And then my brain was consumed by the pungent stench of shit, and I nudged James’ legs apart slightly, to see that down where the jocks met his ass crack was a huge stain, bulging in small sections around small lumps of what could only be shit. In all the laughter and the struggling of the boys’ farting fits, James had actually shat himself slightly.

I should’ve been repulsed. That should’ve been the moment I thought, fuck this, it’s not worth it, and turned around and walked out the door and left the boys to clean up their own mess. But the fact that James had spent his last few seconds of consciousness before passing out losing control of his ass muscles and leaking shit into his little good-boy jocks, all the while confused as to what the hell was happening to his body, was so unbelievably arousing.

So arousing my cock was throbbing and I just wanted to take it out and force it between James’ plump lips where they lay, open and waiting as he rested in the tub. 

I thought about all the other ways in which this pure private school boy could possibly end up a shitty mess. I hadn’t even considered it something I’d be attracted to, but seeing his top half – all perfect, plump features, long eyelashes, luscious blonde locks, tanned torso that was perfectly toned and tight with perky pecs and a defined six-pack – contrasting with the dirty, hairy, stinky, shitty bottom half that was spread out in the tub was all just too much. I needed more of it.

Before I could even contemplate my next move with the boy passed out in the tub in front of me, I heard the faint sound of groaning and mumbling in the background.

It didn’t occur to me right away, but when the realization hit me, panic spread throughout my body: Bailey was awake.

Well, at least conscious.

It was incoherent muttering, nothing more, probably trying to speak and figure out why he was strung up to the bedposts like a piece of meat, or why he was completely naked, but struggling to formulate the words. 

But it was enough to make me realise that the first of the boys was now awake. 

It was time for the fun to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello?” came the hoarse voice of the helpless Bailey. 

I turned the corner into the room and was again greeted by the most beautiful sight you could possibly imagine. There was Bailey, in all his golden skin glistening under the light of his room, with a thin sheen of sweat now covering it. Muscles strained as he was restrained in an awkward hunched over position, skin turning white where the rope was digging into him. Half of his strawberry blonde mullet was strewn over his shoulders, hanging loosely, while the other half stayed plastered to his back, the sweat from the strands meeting the sweat from his shoulder blades. The curve of his spine as it bowed in the middle, making his ass look that much more round and presentable. The way the bottoms of his feet looked soft and pink and clean as they were upturned, toes twitching in uncertainty. 

I couldn’t quite see his face, not yet anyway, but I didn’t need to.

Not when I had the incredible view of his cock, clearly flaccid but still long and thick enough to make me want to wrap my hand around it whole, hanging helplessly between his spread thighs as his balls looked full and plump. 

‘Typical teenager’, I thought to myself. ‘Always ready to bust.’

The light dusting of hairs leading from his balls across his taint and up towards what could only be described as a perfectly pink, succulent hole, tight and clenching with apprehension, the bright pink contrasting against the bronzed complection of his crack like a work of art. How did one even tan their ass crack? I didn’t know, but I didn’t care. It only enhanced my belief that Bailey Smith might actually have been crafted by the Gods. 

He was still out of it enough that he wasn’t aware of my presence until I accidentally cleared my throat. I had planned to sit there in silence and admire the pornographic visual in front of me, but in doing so I’d left myself literally speechless and my throat had felt like I’d swallowed a bag of flour in the process.

Bailey quickly darted his head around, as much as he could considering he was still drowsy, and he could only stretch his neck back enough to look over his shoulder out the corner of his eyes. 

“Hi Bailey,” I said calmly and casually when we made eye contact, a difficult task considering how mesmerising his crystal blue eyes are. He was biting his lip and his cheeks were so flushed like he’d just been in a sauna. I could tell from the look he gave me that he recognised me from somewhere, and recognised a few seconds later that I was basically the last or second-last face he saw right before he passed out in the middle of a farting fit. Oddly enough, he seemed encouraged by this.

“Hey- hey man, can you – can y’help me?” He asked pathetically, so soft and boyish. I saw none of the swagger that I expected to see from the Bazlenka. Just a confused teenager on the brink of tears. I wasn’t ready to bring an end to it and give myself away, so I humoured him.

“Yeah, sure, hold on,” and Bailey just nodded, straining on the ropes, desperate to be set free and placing his trust in me to help him achieve that goal.

I turned around and left the room, trying to think what my next move would be. And then I remembered my pill bag. 

I was reluctant to go out to my car, leaving the two boys – one conscious, the other unconscious – alone inside the house, but it would only be a minute at the most. As I sorted through the bag trying to find what I was looking for, sifting through poppers, aphrodisiacs and viagra amongst other things, I suddenly questioned why I was limiting myself to only one option, when I had so many to choose from. So I took the whole bag and brought it inside with me, hurrying back to Bailey’s bedroom and checking to make sure James was still in the tub on the way past. 

Bailey looked relieved when I came back, still straining against the ropes but looking up at me with pleading eyes.

I couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured out that I was responsible for him being in this predicament. He was a Xavier College boy who seemed to have pretty good street smarts. How could he not realise I was behind this? 

“Whu-what about- ?” he stuttered when he saw I had returned with nothing that could be used to free him from the rope confines, which by now were creating searing marks in his skin. 

“I’ll keep looking, you just drink this, you need it” and produced a glass of water I’d filled on the way back to his room.

Bailey didn’t need to know it was spiked with both viagra and an aphrodisiac. 

I walked over to him and held the rim of the glass firmly against his lips, watching as he desperately drank the liquid and tried to tilt his head back as far as possible to get it down his throat. He was gulping like a maniac, as if he’d been dehydrated on a deserted island for years. 

“I’ll keep looking,” I whispered to him once he’d cleared the glass of it’s contents, and turned around to head out the door when his voice interrupted me.

“In the back shed,” he said, his voice clearer now thanks to a refreshment. “There’s some tools, just – ah fuck, please!” he groaned and grimaced.

I had forgotten I was actually in Bailey’s home, and so if anyone knew where anything would be here, it would be Bailey himself. I had to stall. Long enough for the medication I’d just given him to kick in.

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” I lied. I wouldn’t be right back. I wouldn’t be back until he was moaning, with a raging hard-on hanging between his legs, desperate to be touched. 

While I waited for Bailey’s body to start reacting the way I wanted it to, I decided it was time to tend to James. He was still slumped in the bathtub, the roofie I slipped in his curry obviously hitting him far harder than it did Bailey. His soiled jocks were a testament to that. Or maybe his body just doesn’t handle things as well as Bailey’s did. Either way, I made a mental note to find out.   
I realised that James, too, would need to be restrained, a tricky prospect given he was in a bathtub, not on a bed with posts at the head and feet. 

Taking the opportunity with James still passed out and waiting for Bailey’s medication to take effect, I ran back out to the garden shed, instantly noticing how much colder it was out in the Melbourne night than before. It made me look down at my phone in my pocket and realise the time was 11.49pm. I’d only been with these boys barely two hours, and I’d already watched them fart themselves into an unconscious state, seen James soil his pants, and restrained Bailey so he was at my disposal. 

So far, so good.

Once in the back shed, I looked for anything that I could use to tie James’ feet with, as I only had enough rope to tie his hands. There was nothing, and I didn’t have time to look further in case Bailey started making a scene, or James woke up and escaped the bathroom, or Bailey’s house altogether. 

I returned to the bathroom empty-handed, and used the rope sparingly. The knots around his wrists that restrained his hands to the shower rail on the wall above his head were loose enough that if James really wanted to, he’d be able to get out. He would need double the dosage that I gave Bailey, just to be safe.

I looked down at him, how helpless he looked, slumped in the tub with his arms bound above his head, showing off his furry pits, drenched in beads of sweat. His mouth, with those puffy lips, hung open like a dog drooling over a bone, while his eyes were shut with his incredibly long eyelashes painting his cheeks so elegantly. 

He would not look elegant for much longer, that I could be sure of. 

I walked over to him and slapped him, a light tap at first, then a sharper one, the clapping of flesh echoing around the small bathroom. His head twitched at the contact, then drooped slightly, I could see him slowly coming back to consciousness, eyelids fluttering until they opened just enough to show those beautiful big puppy eyes. His cute little pink tongue darted out, licking his lips, which were bordering on white from how dry they were. 

When his mouth opened just enough for me to hold the rim of the glass to his lips, I poured the exact same concoction that I gave to Bailey down James’ throat, and he obediently swallowed, albeit he did so out of instinct – he hadn’t actually used his eyes to observe that he was tied up, or that he was in a bathtub, or that he was wearing nothing except for a pair of tight red jocks, or that in the back of those very jocks was a lump of now-drying shit. 

James hadn’t even processed my presence yet, he was so confused and disoriented. It only added to his beauty. 

I couldn’t stop gazing at him, all of him – from the glassy puppy eyes, to the damp blonde hair stuck to his forehead and neck, to the steaming turd bulging out of his jocks – but I knew I had to drag myself away to deal with the moaning, groaning boy in the room next door. 

And speaking of moans and groans, Bailey’s whimpers were only getting louder and louder. I turned away from James in the bathroom to head into Bailey’s bedroom, and was delighted at what I saw.

In the middle of the bed, still tied up and looking as uncomfortable as ever, was Bailey, trying desperately to thrust his hips down until they met the sheets to gain some friction on what was a huge, throbbing erection, with no success. His hips were too far off the bed, and his raging cock just bobbed hopelessly, inches away from the contact he so desperately sought with the mattress. He was sobbing like a frustrated toddler having a tantrum, annoyed and agitated as he didn’t know how to handle this pulsating hard-on he was stuck with.

Oh, to be a front-row spectator to whatever was going through his mind right now. In the most humiliating situation any guy – or any person, really – could find themselves in, and painfully aroused, with no idea why. What a conflicting emotion it must be for him. He’d be so desperate to channel his inner alpha right now, and break himself free of his rope confines and heroically flee the house he was captive in, but his slutty hip-thrusts and pathetic attempts at grinding into the bed like a horny teenager going through puberty defied all of that jock masculinity. 

He must’ve heard my feet tap the entrance to the room, as he rapidly turned his head around, by now looking more desperate than he had last time I checked on him, and face so red that it seemed like if I touched him I’d feel nothing but heat radiating from his skin.

“Please, please – I need – fuck!” Bailey groaned and grunted, hanging his head in shame, desperation and frustration before he could even finish his sentence. 

“Please what, Bailey?” I asked with a coy tone, not giving anything away either way, whether villainous indifference or genuine concern for his current situation.

“Please…” his voice trailed off, like he was confused as to why I even needed to ask that when he was clearly fucking struggling. I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face as he slowly connected the dots in his mind. That I wasn’t freaking out like he was freaking out; that I wasn’t concerned with helping him out of his humiliation; that I was taking some form of enjoyment from his humiliation. 

That I was the one responsible for his humiliation.

His brows furrowed in deep realization, as though he was genuinely hurt.

Not hurt.

Betrayed.

That he’d let me into his home, a very popular and successful professional athlete who had every right to show me no such kindness, and I’d taken advantage of it to such an extent.

In honesty, I felt a tinge of guilt at the thought that’s what had become of me.

And yet, as I stared down at him, every clean line of his limbs and every ripple of muscle across his body, all golden hair and bronzed skin and sapphire blue eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. 

“Wh-why?” Bailey asked, helplessly, voice sounding weak and pathetic. I just strode over to him, running a gentle hand through the silky strands of his mullet, which were golden and glowing directly under the bedroom light, feeling how soft they were, like silk. I extended my hand down the curve of his spine, revelling in the slippery glide of his sweat-covered back. There were larger drops pooling in the dimples at the base of his spine which I ran my fingertips through, before tracing them over the curve of his ass, leaving behind a wet trail as I went.

All Bailey could do was shiver, and I realised what a mixture of emotions and reactions he must be going through. Not only terrified of the predicament he found himself in, but painfully aroused by it, but also hot and flustered from the strain and struggle, and cold from the chilly Melbourne air hitting his damp skin; despising me for doing such a thing to him, and needing me as his only immediate source of relief and release. 

“You want to get out of this, yeah Baz?” I cooed, almost lovingly, like a mother tending to her wounded offspring. I wasn’t sure where ‘Baz’ came from, but the deeper into this fantasy I dove, the less I was seeing him as the Bailey Smith who I was delivering an Uber Eats meal to, and more the Bazlenka whose Instagram I had stalked so often, in awe of his surreal beauty. 

“Is that what you want?” I asked again when I got no response, though I felt the response from within him. Every muscle in his body seized up at the touch of my open palm as it continued to glide over the expanse of his back, ass and thighs, just rubbing soothing circles into his flesh, but threatening to do more.

“Yes,” Bailey choked out. 

“What was that?” I asked dryly, digging my fingers into his flesh with a bit more authority to remind him that while this game was fun to play, I wouldn’t tolerate it for much longer. He choked on his own breaths, before nodding his head so rapidly – so desperately – that beads of sweat dropped onto the sheets below him from the strands of hair that hung over his face and shoulders.

“Yes! For fuck sake’s, yes! Just – please!” He corrected himself after realising his frustration and anger was showing. God, it was so arousing knowing he was trying desperately to stifle the alpha rage that must be within him right now, bubbling to the surface, but knowing he was at my mercy, and it was me and me alone he needed to please.

No one else cared that he was suffering, or embarrassed, or in pain, or angry, or upset about his current situation, because no one else knew.

Watching him pathetically pleading for my assistance, seeing him sprawled out on the bed at my disposal, in the middle of a mostly-vacant room full of his belongings, made it truly sink in that I was alone with the Bazlenka, and I could do whatever I wanted with him.

With the possibilities running through my brain a million miles an hour, it was quite surprising that all I could do was settle for sliding my hand around from his tailbone, over his hip and down between his legs, where his cock – what appeared to be a thick slab of meat about eight and a half inches long, was hanging haplessly under a full and plump ballsack. I ran my hand over the nuts, rolling each orb in the palm of my hand and noting the slight dusting of light hairs on them, before I wrapped my fingers around his cock.

It dawned on me straight away that, holy shit, I am holding Bailey Smith’s cock; that I could feel every vein, every pulse as it throbbed to life under my touch, every wet sound as I moved my hand up and down a little against the slick glide of the pre-come that had been oozing out of his foreskin and down his shaft. 

I wanted more, so I brought my hand back and went to spit in my palm, before remembering that I was the one in a position of power here, which meant I was the one who could indulge. 

I held my palm out in front of Bailey’s face and waited in silence. When I was met with the same from him, I slapped his cheek. Not too hard, but enough to jolt us both. I had no control over my body, I didn’t feel the urge to slap him. I was just running on instincts now, wanting to speed the process up of turning Bailey into my little slut.

“Spit,” I said calmly. Bailey looked at me, really at me, directly into my eyes for the first time in a while. They were so beautiful, his gaze piercing as he looked into my soul, terrified and resentful. Perhaps it was his hatred towards me, but he didn’t hesitate to prepare to cough up a load of spit aimed at my hand, albeit it was a struggle given how dry his throat was. 

I stared down at the puddle of saliva he’d spat onto my palm, felt how warm and sticky it was, my cock twitching in excitement at the idea it had come from Bailey’s soft, teenage mouth. When I brought it back down to his cock, feeling the stickiness create a smoother glide for my fingers to stroke, Bailey inhaled sharply – an almost gasp, only contained by his desperation not to give away how much he needed this.

But his body was doing the opposite.

His cock was pulsing, the exposed tip beet-root red and glistening with pre-come the more I pulled his foreskin back. His hips were thrusting erratically, greedily chasing the contact he so desperately sought. 

As pornographic as the sight was – Bailey, naked and bound in all his glory, long, fat cock getting milked like he was a cow, sweat creating a thin sheen of gloss over his entire body, which was all muscle and tanned flesh – I couldn’t help but want to get an even closer look. 

I removed my hand from his cock to bring it back around to his ass, slapping the firm cheek, then tapping it lightly a few times until he got the message, raising his rear end as well as he could given how restrained he was. I could hear his grunts and groans as he strained to lift his body weight up. I was surprised he wasn’t being more insubordinate, but he, too, was reacting on instinct at the moment. And when you get a tap that suggests you move, then you move.

I manoeuvred myself awkwardly into a position where I was laying underneath him, nudging a knee here or a thigh there out of my way until I was comfortably below the boy, and he just took it all. I was now laying on my back in the centre of the bed, despite there barely being enough room to fit me under Bailey after how I’d bound him to the bed-posts. Directly above my face, mere inches from it, was Bailey’s holy trinity. 

His thick, long cock, bobbing against my chest as it drizzled pre-come onto my sternum; a tight ballsack, scattered with those light blonde hairs, looking plump and full and ready to release; and the smooth stretch of taut skin leading from the base of the sack up to his crack, with random darker, more prickly hairs up and down it, surrounding a perfect, succulent pink hole, tight and winking and glistening in the natural sweat his crack had produced.  
From my position I could see every ripple of every muscle of his hole as it clenched, in anticipation, in uncertainty, in fear – I didn’t know. 

Nor did I care. 

I just had to taste it. 

I foolishly stuck my tongue out, desperate, needing to have it without thinking about the logistics of it. When I realised it was still out of my reach, I wriggled my arm free from under Bailey, bringing it up to wrap it around his thigh, clutching it and forcing him down. Combined with the pull of the rope restraining him, it was enough for Bailey to lose his balance, instantly falling ass-first onto my face. It all happened so fast, I barely had time to process it before I felt my face being surrounded by hot, stuffy teenage ass, nose pressed up against the soft plushy flesh of his taint. I could feel the groomed prickly hairs scattered over his crack scratching against my forehead. 

Bailey was grunting and groaning, squeezing his cheeks together out of instinct to try and muster the strength to wiggle free from the predicament he found himself in, but he had no success. All it succeeded in doing was clamping my mouth and nose even further into his crack, which by now was damp and impossibly warm. 

Acting almost on reflex, I relaxed my brain and inhaled, taking in the scent of Bailey’s ass, which for a pretty, squeaky clean private school boy, was smelling pretty rank by this point. Like musky teenage sweat and three-days-old underwear. It wasn’t Bailey’s fault. Being bound and tied while profusely sweating in fear and panic and rage would give anyone BO, and I certainly wasn’t complaining. But I did want to have a bit of fun with him, so as I took another deep inhale of his masculine stench, I let out an exaggerated gag.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed, slightly moving my head so my mouth was away from his crack so he could hear me better. “You stink Baz!” 

He physically cringed at that, clenching his cheeks together and bowing his head in disgust, shame, humiliation – I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.

When all he did was let out a pathetic grunt, I brought my hand up and slapped it against his round ass cheek above my head, the slapping sound echoing around the room.

“I said,” and then I spanked him again, even harder. “You fucking stink Baz!” I had no idea where this animalistic domineering side of me had come from. Something about Bailey’s helplessness made me want to indulge my cruel, sadistic side, and I was getting a kick out of this, so much so that my cock was throbbing to life between my legs.

“Aaahhh fuck!” Bailey screamed – no, cried – from the unexpected spanks. He just wasn’t getting it. I wanted him to acknowledge the stench his sweaty ass was producing, and the spanking wouldn’t stop until he did.

I set about a rhythm, every three seconds lashing my hand down against the firm, creamy flesh of his butt cheeks.

“What d’you say Baz?” I asked as I continued spanking him. From the position under him, I could see every reaction of his body: each spank sent his balls jiggling against my throat, his cheeks clenching in agony, and his hole quivering in the most sensitive way. It was a beautiful chain reaction that I wanted to enjoy forever. “You’ve got a stinky cunt, what’d do you have to say for yourself?”

I heard Bailey clear his throat above me, and then mutter a pathetic “m’sorry.”

“You’re what?” I asked tauntingly running a hand over his cheeks, now with bright pink hand-prints on them, threatening to inflict more pain on him.

“I’m sorry!” Bailey choked out, shivering under the touch of my palm. 

“Good boy. You really should be sorry,” I was now running my fingers over the expanse of his ass cheeks, fingers creeping closer and closer to the perfect crack in the middle. “How do you expect to keep up your image of being the perfect, flawless ‘Bazlenka’ if you are walking around with a sweaty, rank hole like this?” I asked in a way that was teasing and sadistic, but also patronising; as though I was a therapist probing answers from a willing, paying client. 

That couldn’t have been further from the truth here.

“It’s not usually like this,” Bailey muttered, and there we go. Now we’re getting somewhere. He’s voluntarily piping up with things to say now. “And I’m not perfect, I’m far from it,” he said rather mopingly. I couldn’t see his face from my position, with him basically sitting on my face, but I sensed the sadness in his tone, like maybe this whole experience was getting to him. 

But I couldn’t fabricate sympathy that wasn’t there. 

“Shut up,” I said, bringing my hand down for another final slap to his ass. His deep grunts were morphing into whimpers now. “Oh come on, you’re a pro athlete, I’ve seen you get knocked around and cop some heavy hits. You can’t tell me you’re in pain from a little spanking are you?” 

All Bailey could do was moan pathetically, entire body shaking as he let out pained grimaces. I realised the strain he must’ve felt from being tied in such a position, back hunched, legs under himself, arms out-stretched to the bed-posts. He would’ve been cramping no doubt, and the prolific beads of sweat trickling down his body, and in some cases, off his body onto the sheets below, were a testament to the physical exertion he’d been under. How ironic it was that he could do so little with his body, but still feel so much pain.

“Fine. I’ll reward you,” and as a surge of cheesy, fluffy affection came over me, I stuck my tongue out and lapped at Bailey’s pink, tight, glistening-wet hole. Bailey immediately froze above me, but I didn’t give him time to process it before I was assaulting his hole with my tongue – first giving it little kitten licks to tickle and stimulate it, then lapping at it with longer swipes all the way from the top of his crack to the smooth expanse of his taint. I was fascinated by how fucking wet his hole was – shiny and glossy with sweat and his natural ass juices, of which more oozed out with every long swipe of my tongue. 

“Ohhhhh – fuck,” Bailey was moaning. I suddenly felt a few drops of a warm liquid hit my forehead as it poked out from under his ass. I realised Bailey must’ve whipped his head back, with that glorious mullet, so hard from the shock and discomfort and pleasure of getting his hole licked, that the beads of sweat that had dampened his hair had landed beneath him – directly on me.

It should’ve been repulsive, it should’ve been disgusting. But all it did was spark that animalistic side of me again. I wanted to feast on him. With a low growl, I buried my face, somehow, even deeper in his cunt, wrapping my lips around his fleshy rim and sucking, feeling the little bumps of his entrance as they were caressed by my lips. And just when that caused Bailey to let out a breathless moan, my tongue entered him, penetrating the tight ring of muscle and immediately feeling it constrict around the tip. 

“Oh my GOD,” Bailey was now moaning. For a guy having things done to his body literally against his will, he was strangely incapable of keeping his pride and ego in-tact, incapable of hiding the obvious pleasure he was experiencing, even in the awful circumstances in which he was experiencing them. It made me wonder if it was a pleasure he couldn’t hide because it was a pleasure he’s never known.

I pulled away from my sloppy make-out session with his hole to glance up at him, or what I could see of him, which was little more than his sweaty mullet stuck to the curve of his spine. 

“Have you been rimmed before?” I asked casually, but curiously.

“Ri-rimmed?” Bailey stuttered. 

How pathetic. Like I would actually believe wouldn’t know what a rimjob is. But I played along, almost taking pleasure out of the fact that he had his wits about him still enough to try to act coy and play dumb.

“A tongue up your ass.” I answered bluntly.

“Ahh,” Bailey hesitated, I could tell by the muffled sound of his voice that he had bowed his head forward again in humiliation. “No, never” he said in-between heavy panting. I raised my eyebrows and gave his hole another kitten lick, earning a sharp moan from Bailey.

“You sure?” I probed again.

“Fuck! Yes! I’ve never had a – fuck – a tongue… there,” Bailey was full on panting and moaning now, like a bitch in heat, trying to add authority and assertion to his words, but it was all undermined by his girlish whimpers and the fact he was very obviously coming apart in front of me. 

“But..” Bailey piped up again, before trailing off, subconsciously nudging his ass slightly, ever-so-closer to my face, almost in desperation. Did he actually want more?

“But what?” I asked him softly, realising this was a critical moment in breaking him, running a soothing hand over the curve of his ass and the muscles of his lower back, trying to caress honesty out of him.

“S’nothing,” Bailey said shyly, as though he’d realised he’d made a mistake by continuing the conversation on further than what I’d expected it to, or than what I’d demanded of him. He wiggled his ass again, as if to try and get back to being pleasured, and forget the topic had ever come up. Did he really believe I would just let it go, and let the encounter continue on his terms like that? 

I shook him from his desperate little fit with a brutal slap to his ass cheek. It was the hardest spanking I’d given him yet by some margin, the flesh turning a stinging white from the impact before a bright pink hand-print bloomed right in the centre of his left cheek. It was like a work of art, even if the subject was grunting and wincing the entire time. 

“But. What?” I asked again, with an eery seriousness so he knew I would cause him even more pain if he skirted around the question one more time.

“Fuck! OK! OK!” Bailey exclaimed, voice going hoarse and thighs beginning to tremble as they sat perched above my torso. “It’s my girlfriend… she – she has tried to, y’know, before.” 

Just the mention of his girlfriend sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t want the untimely reminder that Bailey was a human being with a girlfriend, and a family, and friends, all people who cared about him. Not that he was just an object, a toy, a hole to play with. I needed to re-focus; to re-stake my claim on Bailey.

I dove straight back between his cheeks, using my nose to dig and press against the tender skin of his crack while I began flicking my tongue erratically inside his hole, probing as deep as I could until my teeth were scraping against his rim and my lips were wrapped around the puffy muscle like a vacuum. I could tell above me that Bailey was flinching, cringing even at the lack of decorum I was showing as I brutally tongue-fucked his virginal hole, moaning into the stuffy rectum which sent the vibrations coursing through his body.

He let out a feminine yelp as his sensitive cunt experienced a whole new range of sensations.

“Mmmmm, love hearing you sounding like a little bitch, like a little private school girl.” I didn’t care that my words came out muffled. I could literally feel the heat flush throughout his entire body; his ass cheeks, cushioning my face in all their muscular, yet still plushy flesh, were as hot as a furnace. “Is that why you didn’t let her tongue-fuck you? Scared of her hearing her Baz screaming like a private school girl?”

I was loving how every taunting sentence would make Bailey choke and splutter on his words, like he wanted to fire back a retort, or defend his ego and protect his pride, but his body wouldn’t allow it, too consumed in the overwhelming pleasure and shock to it’s system. 

“I would’ve,” Bailey choked out, before again trailing off. I brought the hand back to rest on his cheek, feeling him wince at just the slightest touch. A necessary reminder of what happened the last time he tried to suppress his true thoughts to me. “But… just never got around to it,” he finished hurriedly, panicked at the prospect of copping another spanking to his already sore bum.

I brought my mouth away from Bailey’s hole, admiring the glistening pink flesh in all it’s beauty. I had really made love to his hole, stretched it around my tongue and left it shiny with my spit and his own ass juices. 

“Why is that?” 

Silence.

A threatening hand now rubbing his ass cheek in a circular motion.

“Why didn’t you get around to it, Baz?” I asked again, more thoroughly, but also with a slightly warmer tone, similar to the way you’d ask a friend how their day was. 

“Cause, well, I just always – finished… y’know,” and his legs shook as he cut himself off. No doubt the physical exertion took it’s toll, but he was also physically weak just at the realisation of what he was saying, what he was divulging. Crazy, personal, intimate things. I was rock-hard at the thought that these were anecdotes and experiences that his thousands of fans had all probably fantasised about since they first discovered him, and he was revealing them to me. 

“You always finished during the foreplay?” I asked him plainly, trying to maintain the casual tone of the conversation, to relax him into it, to see what else I could get out of him. 

And it seemed to be working.

“NO!” He fired back abruptly, with panic in his voice. I could tell it was denting his almighty ego, the idea that I would think he prematurely ejaculates. Little did he know that that wasn’t a turn-off for me. In fact, the thought of Bailey coming undone so soon into his encounters with his girlfriend, like a high school teenager during his first time, only made my cock throb even more painfully than it already was.

He simmered down when he’d realised he’d potentially pissed off the one guy who could choose whether things got better or worse for him.

“No, I just meant – ummmm, that, y’know, we’d get straight to… it,” he said more calm and demure.

“Straight to fucking?” 

“Yeah.”

“So all this must be pretty new to you, yeah?” I asked, seductively swiping his hole with my tongue, ever so slowly, just to remind him that though I may be giving him more license to speak and engage with me, that I was still in charge here, and could still, technically, do whatever I wanted with him.

He didn’t respond, but I felt him nod his head above me, the rest of his body shifting accordingly. 

“Well, why don’t I show you the proper way foreplay’s meant to be done, hey?” 

Next thing I knew, two muscular ass cheeks were squeezing down around the sides of my face. The boy had frozen so much at my words he’d seemed to have forgotten about my actual presence underneath him.

“Ssshhh, it’s OK. Relax. I’ll make it good for you, yeah?” I asked in between probing flicks of my tongue against his hole, basically manipulating into stunned, overwhelmed silence.

I felt him release a little, ass cheeks relaxing, hole unclenching and releasing more of it’s delicious clear fluid. I even heard him exhale, mentally as much as physically preparing himself for whatever was to come. And that brief moment, that very minor lapse in his tension was all I needed to press the tip of my finger against his hole, right alongside where my tongue was already against it, collecting all the juices that were oozing from his cunt. I waited for Bailey to react, to have some kind of opposition to the addition of a finger. But it never came. Was he really so lost in the confusion and pleasure and euphoria and panic of his current predicament that he couldn’t tell the difference between a tongue and a finger?

There was only one way to find out.

Showing no mercy, I slid the finger in to his tight heat, past the first knuckle, past the second knuckle, until the tip of my finger was encompassed by searing hot, spongy flesh. He was so warm and wet and suffocating inside. I would’ve lost myself in the the unbelievable sensation of actually being so deep inside Bailey’s virginal, teenage cunt, if it weren’t for his piercing scream jolting me out of it. 

I pulled back slightly, withdrawing until just the tip of my finger remained inside him, his tight ring of muscle constricting around my digit. I didn’t do so out of courtesy. Hurting Bailey was not a major concern of mine. It was more out of instinct, his yelp of pain upon that first intrusion making me panic more than anything. There were neighbours, after all, not to mention a very-unconscious-but-surely-do-to-wake-up-soon James Rowbottom in the bathtub in the room next-door, wallowing in his own shit.

But I had to remind myself that no one knew what was happening, and if they did, they would have to accept that Bailey was willingly taking a finger up his ass – and I would make sure he did a damn good job of selling that to any prying ears that might ask.  
And so without seeking any reassurance that Bailey was okay, I just plunged my finger all the way back in, deeper than it had been before. 

“Oh FUCK! Please! No! Pleaseeee,” Bailey was moaning and crying helplessly, thrashing up and down as best as he could against the restraints, trying to wiggle his ass free of my probing finger. 

But I was not to be deterred. 

I began curling my finger, hooking it to the left, and then to the right, experimentally familiarising myself with the perfectly soft walls of his cunt. 

“Oh my Godddd, please, take it out – I – I can’t!” He was grunting now, in genuine pain. I couldn’t believe how callous I was being, considering it was his first time having anything up his ass. 

“But you’re THE Bazlenka,” I said teasingly as I pulled my head back to stare at my finger as it twisted in and out of his hole with as much delicacy as someone writing letters in sand. 

“Surely you can take this…” 

I twisted my finger brutally.

“It’s just one finger…”

I twisted it again the other way.

“You are supposed to love pushing your body to it’s physical limits, aren’t you?”

I curled it back towards myself in a “come here” motion. 

“OH FUCK! No! Arghhh, not – not like – not like this!” He cried out through gritted teeth. 

“I’m just showing you how foreplay is done, but if you’re bored of this…”

And with that, I added a second finger, not even bothering to move the first out and slide them in together. Simply forcing it in, like fitting a square peg in a round hole. Unfortunately for Bailey, his virginal cunt happened to be that round hole, and after applying some relentless force, that hole was now stretched around two fingers. The heat and tightness from his ass muscles were so extreme that my fingers were turning white, suffocating from the intensity of being inside him when, truthfully, they had no right to be. But that only encouraged me to take it further, to bury them so deep inside Bailey that the knuckles of my other fingers were resting against his taint, the tips rubbing against the slippery skin there. 

“Ohhhhhaaarrrgghhhh,” Bailey was grunting pathetically, in serious pain now. I couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed he felt, being so uncomfortable from his restrained position; being so humiliated from this terrifying experience; and being so sore as his body was forced to accommodate a totally foreign intrusion. 

“Aaaany second now,” I said reassuringly as I focused on nudging my fingers around in his tight heat, which was actually beginning to loosen slightly, all the hot spongy flesh inside his cavernous ass expanding around my digits. I was thrusting my fingers in and out with such focus and intent that my tongue was poking out, as if I was doing an exam or trying to thread a needle. 

And my reward came in the form of the tips of my fingers pressing against that fleshy nub deep inside Bailey. I knew I’d struck it when the twin sensations of feeling that nub under my touch, and hearing Bailey’s hoarse gasp both hit me at once.

“Oh SHIT, oh my god – oh my god – oh my god,” Bailey was panting, head thrown back, again drenching the tip of my forehead in the hair straight from the curly strands of his mullet. 

“Yeaahhh, there it is, you like that?” I asked sweetly, cheerfully, like an owner giving his dog a treat. 

And Bailey pretty much was my dog in this moment, entirely at the mercy of me, his owner, only capable of doing whatever I allow or encourage him to do.

Having found what I knew was his prostate, I was determined to drive Bailey crazy.

“Hold on Baz,” and all he could let out was a dazed, “wha?”, before I retreated my fingers and slammed them back in with no remorse, using the tips to squeeze and massage his prostate. 

“Ugghhh, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh – oh – fuck – fuck!” Bailey was muttering and spluttering in rhythm with every probing thrust of my fingers. Such was the rapid pace I had picked up, that his cunt lips began squelching, all wet and slippery, sounding like little tiny farts. It was all the encouragement I needed to slide them out, leaving him feeling empty, succulent ass hole closing back in on itself.

I wasn’t prepared to let that happen, and it seemed like neither was Bailey. He let out a frustrated grunt at the sudden shock of going from overly full and stimulated, to being almost entirely empty. 

However, that emptiness was short-lived, as I added a third finger, and plunged them deep inside him, assaulting his prostate in one swift motion. 

“Ohhhhh, I can’t – I – fuck!” Bailey sounded near-death, to be honest. I was taking him to another dimension, and while I was damn sure that he wasn’t totally enjoying it, I couldn’t say for sure that he was not enjoying it, either. I loved this limbo state I had him in, the confusion of having your G-spot pleasured in such a way that felt totally dirty, wrong, awful and disgusting.

“Y’like that, Baz? That’s your G-spot. You can tell your girlfriend that you want her fingers up your little pussy.” 

“Don’t, please – fuck, don’t,” Bailey pleaded. 

God, I wish I could see his face right now, to see the humiliation and embarrassment and pain and regret at having let me set foot in his house spread across his face. But there would be plenty of opportunity to gaze at his beauty. For now, I could hardly complain about the sight above me – his thighs, shiny with sweat, quivering as they held themselves over me; his balls leaving a puddle of sweat under where they rested on my sternum; and his hole, now slightly puffy, but still as pink and glossy as ever, opening itself around my three fingers. 

I loved how every verbal taunt I threw his way caused his hole to clench and spasm uncontrollably. For a boy who had made himself into a perfectionist, with control over every aspect of his life – from his appearance to his career to his fitness to his public image – he now found himself with no control over his body. 

“How do you think she’d feel if she knew she wasn’t the first to have her tongue or fingers inside you?” I asked teasingly, wiggling my fingers at the same time.

No response.

“Cause she’d know, you know that, right Baz?” The patronising torment was just dripping from my voice, making it all the more fun to play with his mind and his emotions like this. “She’ll get one finger in this loose pussy and realise this thing’s been stretched open by someone before. How would she take that, Baz?”

Every drop of the name ‘Baz’ made his thighs clench around my shoulders that little bit more. I was drunk with power, and losing my ability to feel any sort of remorse at all.

“I – I don’t, please, just,” was all Bailey could muster.

I knew I wasn’t getting my answer. I doubted he’d even be able to produce a straight answer to that question under normal circumstances, but with his ass stuffed by three fingers? No chance. 

“Shut the fuck up Baz. I don’t wanna hear it. Bend down and suck my cock.”

“Nng – huh?” Bailey choked out.

Though I couldn’t tell from my vantage point, I just knew Bailey’s eyes were bulging, was probably biting his soft pink lips, eyebrows furrowed in fear at what he’d just heard. 

I tilted my head to glance down at my body. I could barely see under Bailey’s balls and his cock bobbing against my chest, but enough to see my cock was rock-hard, standing upright, almost demanding attention. I desperately needed his mouth around it, so I wiggled my right arm free, bringing it up to rest on Bailey’s back, and pushing, gently at first, but then with more force when I could sense he was resisting. I felt him lean forward above me, getting the message, though I doubted that he was fully comprehending that I genuinely expected him to suck my cock.

With my other hand, I held my cock upright, firm and assertively, shaking it back and forth a few times suggestively. 

And no movement from Bailey.

Oy. 

So this is how he wanted to play it.

“Get down there and suck my fucking dick right now!” I growled, getting agitated by how close I was to making Bailey lose it, but evidently how far I still had to go. “Or trust me, I will make things ten times fucking worse for you.”

“Whu-what? What are you… what are you gonna do?” Bailey asked nervously, a tremor in his voice. 

“Get your head down on my cock or you will find out,” I replied swiftly.

I couldn’t see his face. All I could feel was his thighs above me, shaking in apprehension as I waited for his reaction. Would I have to become more forward – if that was even possible – and more aggressive? Start really punishing him for his insubordination, or should I – 

Oh. 

That’s a mouth. That is the soft wet heat of a mouth around my cock. 

He was doing it. 

Bailey was sucking my cock. 

THE Bazlenka was sitting on my face, hunched over with his mouth full of cock. 

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait before I changed positions. The mental image of Bailey with my cock stuffing his perfect face was too irresistable to miss. His technique was, as predicted, terrible. He had his plump lips around my head, neither sucking tight and hot, or loose and sloppy. Simply stationary. Lips not moving. It was clear the prospect of taking my cock all the way in his mouth was a daunting one for Bailey. My cock was thick, and 8 inches long, made all the more imposing with a thick, bulging vein that ran the length of the shaft. It was by no means the biggest dick out there – hell, Bailey’s own cock could certainly give mine a run for it’s money – but it was definitely a challenge for a first-timer, let alone one who has to strain his neck forward, bound by the restraints, just to reach it.

I thought I’d help him by thrusting my hips up, my cock rising to meet his mouth and sinking further in, suddenly giving me a greater sense of the sensual heat of his mouth, only for that amazing feeling to be interrupted by coughing and spluttering. 

“Pathetic.” I said bluntly. “Not even half way in, thought you’d be stronger than this, Baz.” The disappointment was dripping off every word I spoke. “Would you accept a blowjob like this from your girlfriend?” And I felt him wince at the mention of his girlfriend. 

Every damn time. 

He was still clearing his throat and trying to recollect his breathing. It was really quite embarrassing, considering he was acting as if I’d brutally fucked his face, when all I’d done is slid my cock barely half way into his mouth.   
“Get your head back down there now and suck it properly, useless bitch.” 

I was drunk with power, filled with fury and vitriol. In fairness, if you had a guy like Bailey Smith, in all his bronzed, silky, perfectly-sculpted beauty, in front of you, helpless and for the taking, don’t tell me you wouldn’t get some twisted thoughts yourself.

I felt his lips close around my cock again, this time with more force, with more pressure, sucking tighter until I could hear those sloppy, wet sucking noises, and his breathing get heavier and heavier the more of my cock he took in his mouth. 

“Yeahhhh that’s it,” I whispered encouragingly, trying to suppress my urge to moan in total pleasure at how fucking amazing his mouth felt. “Mmmm keep going, just like that.” His technique was better, stroking my cock with his lips in a smooth, gliding motion, up and down, pulling my foreskin back in the process and even using his tongue – probably by accident – to stimulate the sensitive skin beneath. But it was then that I heard a little whimper that sounded distinct from the rest of the sounds he’d made, almost like a kitten meowing. It was so soft and high-pitched. He was trembling and I could hear him trying to clear his nose, all the while continuing to keep those lips wrapped around my cock.

The very second I felt my cock hit the back of his throat, and his gag reflex kick in, producing a thick wad of spit around my cock, I also felt a few drops of some sort of fluid on my thighs. When I looked down and saw more landing on my thighs, as well as Bailey’s continued whimpering and sniffling, it hit me.

Bailey was crying.

Inexplicably, considering I’d just basically forced him into a rimjob and a blowjob against his will, the affection that I had for him overwhelmed me. I hated the sound of him crying, though it was undeniably one of the hottest sounds I’d heard. I wriggled my body out from under him, which involved my cock slipping out of his reach without any prior warning. We both moaned in unison at the change of positions. Baz collapsed a little more, ass barely above the bed now as his body was weak without my own body underneath to hold him up; while I stretched my legs and arms. The cool night air hit my skin, which had been hot and flushed and sweaty under the stifling heat radiating from Bailey’s ass mere centimetres from my face.

Not havig a cock in his mouth had given Bailey the chance to collect himself a little – to stop the sniffling and shake his head to try and suppress the tears, which only caused more beads of sweat to fly from the strands of his mullet as it flew in every direction. But I wasn’t going to let Bailey try and put himself back together that easily.

I shuffled around the room until I was beside the bed, squatting on the floor, facing him finally. 

And what a sight he was. Bright blue eyes practically sparkling, all glossy from the tears, which had left trails down his rosey red cheeks. Lips puffy and glistening with saliva, strings of which were also hanging from his plump bottom lip and dribbling down his bottom chin. 

“Fuck, look at you Baz,” I said, bringing a finger forward to wipe at the spit, only for Bailey to flinch and shake his head away, as if he was afraid of just my finger. “S’okay, just lemme…” and I swiped at the spit on his chin, collecting it at the rim of his lip, his big eyes looking down at my every movement fearfully. “Why you crying? Is it cause your face is covered in drool and spit? And tears? Is that it Baz?” I cooed, full of love and softness, even if it was only half genuine. 

No response.

“Your face is usually…” I hesitated for a moment, to ponder my words carefully. “Perfect, isn’t it Baz?” 

He winced at my words and shook his head slightly. “I told you I’m not perfect,” he mumbled, almost sobbed, eyes welling up with tears that threatened to fall down his tender cheeks. 

“No, but... you try to be, don’t you?” 

At that, Baz didn’t seem to have a response, only silence and a cowered head in concession. 

“Yeah, it’s alright. Your skin, your hair, your mo’, your teeth… you try to take good care of yourself. Having it all covered in your spit must’ve been awful, I’m sorry, Baz,” I offered soothingly, though sorry I was not.

“No, it’s not – it’s not that,” Bailey mumbled, so quietly it would’ve been in audible were it not for the sound of nothing but his heavy breathing, the bed creaking with every movement of his as he remained tied up, and the stillness of the night. 

“Then why were you crying?” I asked again.

“You called me a – a,” and he bowed his head again, the humiliation leading to his cheeks flushing a furious flaming red.

“Ohh, I called you a useless bitch?” 

And he visibly cringed at the term again. 

“Hey, hey, it’s OK. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it, I just needed you to see I was in charge here, OK?” 

He nodded gently. I couldn’t believe how easily Baz had fallen into submission. I expected more of a fight from him, though in fairness, when he’s restrained to a bed and feeling a combination of woozy and aroused from the medication he’d unknowingly consumed, it makes any chance of a fight pretty much slim to none.

“I won’t hurt you, okay? Look you even made my cock nice and wet, got it nice and ready for you,” I said cheerfully as I stood up and waved my dick around in front of his face. Fear consumed his face as he looked up at me, dreading the implication behind my words. I began to approach the foot of the bed, where his ass was presented like a trophy, in all it’s round but muscular beauty, crack and tight little hole still glistening from my earlier tongue bath. Bailey’s eyes followed my movements, until he was forced to look over his shoulder just to meet my eyes. 

“No, oh fuck, no please, please… don’t!” Panic now flooded his facial expressions and oozed out of his voice. “Please, I can’t!” He was writhing around helplessly, thrashing his body around violently. The headboard of the bed was thumping against the wall so much I was worried it would drive straight through it. As wonderful as the sight was – seeing every muscle in his body flex as he used every inch of his strength to free himself of the restraints – and as much as I admired the fight that I was finally seeing from him, he was causing a commotion, and making a racket. I couldn’t risk him making the neighbours suspicious, or waking James up in the room next door. 

I knew the only way I could possibly stop him from continuing to panic was to just get it over with, and hope that he would adapt – he was strong of mind and heart like that. 

“I’m sorry Baz, but you are carrying on, and you’ve left me with no choice here but to,” and with that I picked up his discarded CK’s on the floor, damp from sweat and smelling slightly of the farts he’d been depositing into them earlier that night, and shoved them in his mouth. It wasn’t an easy task. I had to pull him by his soaked mullet until his head was facing me, then I had to bring two sweaty fingers into his mouth just to hold it open long enough to stuff the underwear in there, and he tried to bite me too. The fire inside him was starting to come out the more frustrated and panicked he got. This was the tough Bulldog with an attitude that made him such a popular player – well, that and his looks – but he’d left it a little too late, as I was about to pop his tight little cherry.

I noticed him immediately gag around the fabric, eyes welling with tears at the taste and stench of the musky briefs. 

“How do you taste Baz?” 

All he could produce was a muffled groan into the CK’s, which were bulging out of his swollen lips, more strings of drool dribbling out around the fabric as it soaked it. I chuckled, and went back to my position at the foot of the bed.

“Lucky you sucked my cock – if that’s what I can even call that attempt at a blowjob. It’ll be nice and ready to ease into ya,” I teased. For some reason my mood seemed to be changing to match whatever his mood was. When he was broken and vulnerable, I was appreciative and tender; when he was aggressive and resistant, I was sadistic and uncompromising. He was getting fucked up the ass either way tonight; he could’ve just accepted it, taken it, and had me to take care of him before and after it. Instead, he tried to challenge. He had the ego to actually think he could get out of it, that being ‘Bazlenka’ would somehow save him from this fate.

His mistake.

I shuffled onto my knees on the bed, inching closer to Bailey’s ass until the wet tip of my cock bumped against the smooth skin of Bailey’s taint. I held my cock firmly and used it to wipe up and down the warm expanse of Bailey’s taint and crack, collecting all the sweat and spit and natural ass juices there and using it to lube my cock. The slick glide of my tip against his slippery skin had me feeling dizzy with want; I simply had to have him. 

Bailey was clenching his cheeks together, trying to repel me and my probing cock, but I pressed the head between his cheeks, directly against his entrance. I wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

He let out a strained groan, muffled by the underwear gagging him. I imagined it was a desperate plea to spare him whatever I had in mind. 

“Get ready Baz,” I said through gritted teeth as I aimed my cock against his hole, and pressed forward, feeling all the slick and sweat and leftover spit helping to glide my mushroom tip in, until I felt his ring of muscle give way. Suddenly the head of my cock was engulfed by soft, spongey flesh, all wet and rubbery. It was like his hole was kissing and caressing my cock. 

Or sucking my cock, with velvety lips wrapped around it. 

I literally shivered at the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensations of even just the tip of my cock being inside his tight teenage heat, revelling in the pained screams Baz was struggling to get out through the CK’s stuffed in his mouth. He was making the same repeated ‘NO!’ sound, over and over, writhing back and forth, trying to thrust his hips away from the contact of my probing cock, but I was having none of it. With a guiding hand on his hip, I used the other hand to hold his cheeks open, and used the new and improved access to drive my cock all the way in, aided by his soft walls inside, my cock gliding against him until I suddenly found myself buried to the hilt. My bushy pubes, which I’d let grow out, were now pressed against the curve of his ass. We were as connected as two people could possibly, and I don’t know why it didn’t bother me more that Bailey wasn’t actually consenting to it; that he actually didn’t want anything to do with it. 

How could it possibly bother me when his young, ridiculously fit body was constricting around my dick, so tight and wet and hot.

“Fuck Baz, you’re like a furnace,” I grunted, sighing in sheer pleasure. “So fucking hot inside.”

I couldn’t tell if it was from the physical exertion he’d been put through throughout the night already, or if it was furious blushing from the stinging humiliation of me talking about his ass to him. But every inch of his skin was searingly hot. As I ran my hands over his body – over the curve of his butt cheeks, over the pool of sweat gathering at the base of his spine, up the sides of his body over his ribs, and then up to his hair. 

And fuck, that hair. It was positively saturated. Drenched. Once-golden strands of his soft mullet now dark from how soaking wet it was. As I caressed my fingers over the strands, I couldn’t resist grabbing them tightly, wrapping them around my fingers and pulled swiftly. Bailey grimaced through the underwear gag as his head was yanked backwards, at first so he was facing up, eyes squeezed shut as he was forced to look up into the glare from the light on the ceiling, then all the way back so our eyes met. 

A cartoonishly-villainous smirk appeared on my face once I saw that he was staring directly into my gaze. I’m sure my eyes were a shade of dark, sinister evil, but I didn’t care. I was high on the knowledge that he was looking straight at me as my cock throbbed inside him, knowing that it was me making his hole expand and loosen to accommodate my cock, that he – THE Bazlenka, famed Instagram God, star footballer, squeaky-clean private school boy – was currently being stretched open on an actual dick. 

As I continued to hold his head in place, I fucked deeper into him, driving in with intent while I growled, focused on showing him no mercy, while simultaneously trying to find that special place inside him. Bailey’s face scrunched up in pain, and I could tell he wasn’t expecting, or prepared for, such a brutal thrust so soon. After all, just over sixty seconds ago, my cock wasn’t even inside him, and he’d had nothing inside him. But as he reacted to the shocking and searing pain, he bit down on the underwear in his mouth, eyes bulging as it made him process the taste of his own sweat and shit and cum. 

Tasting the exact fabric that his cock had leaked pre-come and smegma into; that was damp from holding his ballsack as it got sweatier throughout the day; that had been stained brown slightly from being wedged between his ass cheeks and nestled against his teenage hole. 

Every suckle of flavour from the fabric was just a reminder to Baz that no, he definitely wasn’t perfect. 

The thought made my cock throb and twitch, pulsing to life inside of Bailey and spurring me to drive in and out, lost in the smooth glide of my cock against the soft walls of his anus. His ass was like it was made to service cock, a perfect tunnel for a cock to be thrust in and out of. 

Bringing my hands around to Bailey’s hips, I grabbed them tightly by my fingertips, and held his body in place, using it as nothing more than an object for me to fuck furiously. 

“Ohhhh God, you feel amazing, Baz!” I exclaimed, throwing my head back in pleasure as I thrust into him wildly, the room suddenly filled with my moans, Bailey’s muffled whimpers, and the sound of skin slapping on skin as his ass met my thighs. His balls swung erratically, and I couldn’t resist reaching a hand down to feel them, rolling them around in the palm of my hand, feeling how swollen and full of teenage come they were. It was so incredibly hot that I just wanted to be closer to him. As I continued to play with his plump ballsack, I leant forward, my front now pressed to his back, stuck together almost by two layers of sweat. The new angle allowed me to drive even deeper into him, our bodies connected almost entirely from head to toe, my arms wrapped around him completely, smothering him in my body weight. 

“Mmmmmm, seems like you need some release, eh Baz?” I whispered in his ear, my breath hot against his ear and I found myself nibbling on his lobe, biting slightly causing him to wince in surprise. I was so close to him our cheeks were touching. I couldn’t believe that I had my face pressed against the perfect, pink cheeks of Bailey Smith, while my cock drove into him from behind. “C’mon, let’s get you your release,” I growled as I slid my hand from his balls down to his cock, which, despite the humiliating torture of his current situation, was rock hard, all thick muscle and bulging veins, forehead pushed back as his swollen mushroom head presented itself, desperately needing tending to.

I stroked wrapped my fingers around it, before sliding my palm into it, fully enclosing him in my hand. Bailey shivered at my touch, cock obviously sensitive but needing it so much.

“Ssshh, s’okay, let me.” I whispered in his ear again, huffing to blow a few loose strands of his blonde hair that had fallen into my face. He relaxed slightly at my words, allowing me the opportunity to take his cock in hand again and give it a few strokes, gentle and cautious at first, before finding a rhythm that matched my thrusts in his ass. “You’re doing so good Baz, such a good little bitch.” 

Despite the teasing words, which I knew would sting – as they were intended to – he really was doing good, taking it as I opened his body up like it had never been before, thrusting so deep inside him and managing to keep his screaming to a minimum, even if that was due to the CK’s shoved in his mouth. In fact, he was doing so good that it made me think he was ready for the best of what I had to give him.

I began using my ass and leg muscles to really pull my hips back, cock sliding out until just the tip was inside him, surrounded by the plushy flesh of his hole massaging around it, and then driving back in with total force, finding his prostate immediately and assaulting it, with sharp, punching thrusts. I heard Bailey produce a high-pitched squeal through the fabric, but it didn’t deter me as I continued to fuck into him with relentless energy. It was like he was nothing more than a sex doll for me to fuck into, like there was no soul or feelings or emotions – just a hole for me to fuck. 

Everything about the moment was so arousing – the slapping sound of my hips meeting his ass, my heavy panting in his ear as I kissed and suckled and licked the beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face, the bed creaking and the headboard thumping against the wall – that I didn’t even notice Baz start to tighten up, hole clenching and every muscle in his body flexing. 

And then he lost control.

I felt his cock spasm and a warm, gooey substance coat my hand, and then looked down to see him shooting rope after rope of come onto the bed-sheets below him. It was hypnotising, especially as it became obvious that the copeous amounts of come were an indication of just how much of a powerful orgasm he was experiencing. 

His first prostate orgasm.

But I was also lost at the beauty of his face. How his eyes were – once again – welling up with tears as he shook and shivered his way through an overwhelming orgasm; how his lips had turned white from how tight they were stretched around the underwear forcing his mouth open; how the drool was now pouring out around said underwear, turning his entire chin and razor-sharp jawline into a slobbery mess; how the beads of sweat were trickling from his fringe and loose curls of blonde hair, down his brow and into his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

“Annoying isn’t it?” I said tauntingly as I saw Baz squeeze his eyes shut as the salty sweat stung his eyes. “When I was eating you out, every time you threw your head back like a bitch in heat, you flung sweat onto me.” I was teasing him purely to overwhelm him as he tried to reckon with the orgasm he’d just had. “Every fuckin’ time, Baz.” 

I started punching his prostate with my cock with every single word.

“Every”

Thrust.

“Fucking”

Thrust.

“Time.”

He was crying now, shedding tears at will like he’d lost all control of his body and his emotions, not to mention the overstimulation as I showed no mercy on his teenage, formerly-virginal cunt.

“Gonna make me come Baz,” I said as I felt that familiar tingling feeling in my stomach. I was driving into him with such force that I noticed the ropes restraining him started to come loose, but I was too lost in the moment to even care. 

Bailey started shaking his head in desperation and panic. The realization that I was going to come dawned on him. It could only lead to one thing, and assuming Bailey wasn’t the pure darling that he might like to think he is, I suspected he knew that meant I would come inside him.

Just as he had probably done with his girlfriend before.

“Fuuuuck Baz,” I grunted in pleasure, pretty much oblivious to Bailey’s panicked shaking and muffled cries and pleas as I grew closer. His hole started squelching around my cock as I thrust in and out, the pre-come I’d leaked inside him mixing with the sweat and ass juice that had his hole feeling like a sloppy pussy. 

It was all so overwhelming, it only took one thrust, two thrusts, three thrusts, before I was losing control, just as Baz had done not one minute earlier.

The shaking of the bed against the bedroom wall came to a halt as my thrusts stopped, I buried my cock as deep inside Bailey’s heat as I could, and I let my cock spasm and release into his ass. Rope after rope shooting into his heat, coating his soft walls and filling him. I felt Bailey cringing, squeezing his eyes shut, probably trying to imagine that he was somewhere else – anywhere else – that wasn’t this moment, with his ass getting filled with a stranger’s seed. It felt so warm and sticky, and it felt as if it was going so deep inside him. I instinctively brought a hand down to Bailey’s stomach. I knew better, but the idea that I could fill him up like that, have his much-obsessed-about eight-pack inflated with come, had me shooting a few extra ropes of come I didn’t even know I had in me.

“Fuck Baz, feel that?” I whispered in his ear, following it with a gentle, reassuring kiss, which was probably for naught, given how disgusted Bailey probably was. “All full of me now.”

And at that moment, I felt a thump and a whack, and next thing I knew I was falling off the bed and onto the floor. It was all a blur, but I looked up to see the silhouette of Bailey in front of the ceiling light’s glare, standing over me. He spat out the underwear in his mouth, coughing from how dry his mouth evidently was. 

“You fucking psycho! What the fuck!” Bailey screamed, through what seemed like tears, as he started kicking me. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He was pounding me with his feet now, kicking into my stomach and my thighs, even getting down on his knees to start punching me. I rolled over onto my side to shield my face, and he settled for punching and kneeing me in the ribs and the shoulders. 

I had no idea how he had got free, then my mind flashed back to five minutes earlier, noticing the ropes that tied him to the bed coming loose from the sheer force of me fucking him, shifting him around, nudging the headboard back and forth. I’d gotten careless and I’d gotten sloppy, but I also wondered why, when he was free, and he was naked, and he still had my come in his ass, and he’d essentially gotten himself out of a very difficult situation, he was still here. Why he’d chosen to stay here and get his vengeance on me by beating the shit out of me, rather than just flee. He could save himself, and James too, and get out right now while I’m on the floor, sore and wounded. 

But he settled for staying and laying into me, fire and fury filling his eyes, those sparkly blue eyes now turning a dark shade of rage. This was beast mode Bailey, the one he activated when he was on the footy field, taking on opponents, ripping their jumpers to shreds. He couldn’t think of or see anything but red. 

And it would be his downfall. 

So exhausted from his fit of punching and kicking me, he began to fall, even at one point using my body to lean on and balance himself. There was a brief moment of respite, where he stopped the punching for a few seconds to catch his breath, and that was all I needed, delivering a clean blow that I didn’t even know I was capable of to the side of his face. He went flying, falling to the side of the mattress and looking dazed and confused. I hit him one more time, cleanly in the same place, for good measure. He fell to the floor, body going limp. For a brief moment, panic struck me as I feared I’d gone too far. 

This isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to kill Bailey. He was beautiful, inside and outside. His generosity and kindness was the whole reason I was even inside his house, even in this position to do these things to him. 

With a shaking hand, I nervously reached to feel his pulse, relieved when he still had one. I hadn’t killed him. He was merely unconscious. Or simply asleep. So exhausted from the mental and physical fight he’d been through all night.

The realisation that he was OK, that he would recover from this, only brought back that vindictive resentment I had for him. This little shit had the smarts to get himself free of my restraints, but the ego to think he could try and assert his, what, alpha dominance with me?

I had never had more hatred, albeit attraction, for him. 

And boy, would he be sorry for this.

I picked him up under his armpits, his body going lax as I laid him back onto the bed, laying him back in that same position – on all fours, hunched over with his arms extended above him, and tied him back up. Arms tied extra tight to the headboard, feet bound extra tight to the posts at the end. Unconscious he might’ve been, beads of sweat were dripping off him rapidly, soaking the bed sheet under him. I would not be making the same mistake. There is no way he would be getting out of these knots. 

But it was Bailey’s own fault really. I had bred him with my seed, and was prepared to draw the line at that and move on. Instead, because this alpha with the mullet couldn’t control or contain himself, he found himself in the same position, exactly where he’d started.

Now, about that other blonde in the bathroom next door...


End file.
